Carlofé
by OCsRuleMyLife
Summary: The countries wake up in a strange place one fall day, and find that the tranquil little town is not all as it seems.  TONS OF CHARACTERS INCLUDING OCS.  Helpful to have read Living Secret or Needle in the Hay.  Not mandatory, though.  M for blood.
1. Pilot

Carlofé: Pilot Episode

Russia bolted awake, and sat up in a sweat. He looked over to his clock, to find no clock there. He looked around, and found that he was in a large room, filled with other people. In the dark, he recognized a few faces. Right beside him, ironically, was Belarus, and on the other side, Ukraine. Georgia and Armenia lay not too far away, and he also located the Baltics. He quickly recognized China, as well as England and America at a glance. He saw his son, Almaty, beside Kiev and Minsk, as well as Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Yekaterinburg. He stood up, and tried to step over the people towards the door at the far end of the building. He stepped over many people—Mongolia, Tibet, Thailand, Luxembourg, Mexico, Honduras, Austria's daughter Vienna, Vietnam's daughter Saigon, Philadelphia, Miami, Anchorage, and even a few American states. He reached out at the handle on the door, only to realize that he was not, in fact, in his bed clothes, but actually fully dressed in his long coat. He blinked at this revelation, but opened the door. The light of morning slammed into his face, and he covered his eyes at first. He looked around sleepily, and turned back to the room, yawning. The light appeared to have woken up a good deal of the others, and he tried to make a quick headcount. Having not enough time before people began to start muddling around, he estimated somewhere between seventy and one hundred people were inhabiting this large area. He turned again towards the door, and stepped outward into the amber-lit town. It was the middle of October, and the trees were covered in various colors. It was a modest little town, wood and rope fences, windy dirt paths, log houses. He frowned. It didn't look much like the modern world. He turned back to the room. "America, this had better not be one of your stupid Halloween jokes, da?"

America groaned as he awoke to the accusation. "What are you talking about…? WHAT the hell?" He jumped up upon seeing the scene behind Russia, who frowned disapprovingly.

"Who did this? England, did you cast a spell?" Russia scanned the room.

"Me? No. Not yesterday, anyway."

Russia scratched his head. "Haiti?"

The black woman shook her head in her corner; arms crossed and leaned gently against the wall. "H'ain't done no black magic since Tuesday."

The scarfed man rubbed his temples. "Anyone want to admit that they've brought us somewhere we should not be?"

When no one fessed up, Russia sighed, and was about to start a new round of inquiry, but was cut off by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, to see three men standing behind him. The one in the center wore a long brown coat that extended to a bit below his knees. He wore tan pants and had black boots that ran up high enough to make it so that you could see only a few inches of his pants. He also had tan gloves, the cuffs of which were invisible, as the gloves were long and went farther up his arms than the long coat sleeves would show. He had a scruffy, square face that boasted age and experience, and a high brow, giving him a consistently inquisitive look. He had a small metal star pinned to either side of the collar of his coat, and a brown cap that looked somewhat ill-fitting on top of his just as ill-fitting brown hair. His blue eyes were piercing and observant, and his nose curved like that of a watchful hawk. He was only a bit shorter than Russia, and he looked up at him, not looking very intimidated. "Excuse me. I am Chief of Police, Peter Miggot." He extended his hand and shook Russia's. "This is my Lieutenant," he motioned to the man on his left, a large, husky man, clean shaven, and wearing the same attire, but missing one star, "Marcus Erikson. This man," he now motioned to the man on his right, who looked like an average sort of man, hatless, starless, and gloveless, but his searching green eyes gave him an air that boasted of knowing something you didn't, "Officer Samuel Thames." The average looking man nodded, and the larger Marcus simply watched silently.

"I was informed of a large group of individuals," the Chief paused here for a moment, "who allegedly entered this town hall, and took up residence in the night." Russia watched him quietly, and wrung his hands awkwardly. The Chief stood up a little straighter. "I have therefore been issued an order to relocate them," he looked around the room with cold eyes, "To better habitations! No one should stay in the town hall all night." He laughed and smiled, letting a little breath of visible air out and motioning out into the dirt road. "I don't know where you came from, but welcome to Carlofé Township. I'm sure we can find some appropriate lodgings for a group of your size." He smiled, and scratched the back of his head. "I was waiting for one of you to open the door. We actually need the town hall today. We're going to begin preparations for All Hallows Eve and the harvest festival."

He stood to the side as Russia smiled and stepped out into the chilly October morning. He tightened his scarf slightly, and watched as the others began to stir. He looked at the Chief. "I think you are going to have quite the group on your hands, da?"

"Oh?"

"We are a bit more… ethnically diverse than you are probably used to."

"That's alright. What's the good in a festival without a little excitement, hm?"

Russia chuckled, and followed when the now smiling Marcus took him to a set of empty cabins on the edge of town.

_Twelve hours later…_

Russia looked out of the door to his little cabin, then looked behind him, making sure little Georgia, Armenia, Belarus, and Ukraine were all in their bunks. He then stepped out into the cold night wind, letting it flap his scarf around him, and began the trek down the muddy road to where he might find some information on just where they were and how they got there.

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><p>That's the pilot 'episode'. I want to know if you guys want more of this. I kind of like the idea of the whole thing, and it will be a very... interesting plot, I promise. So review if you want more, please. I'll try to update weekly. Yes, there really are 70 to 100 characters mulling about my storyline now. Have a happy Halloween~.<p> 


	2. Episode 1: Townsend

Carlofé: Episode 1

Russia stamped slowly through the mud, dragging his booted feet up and over each section of guck. He wasn't sure where exactly he was going, but he thought that maybe the police station would be a good shot. On he marched, until he came to a more official, brick building not too far from the town hall. He walked up the pathway, and knocked on the door. The old wooden door creaked open unwillingly after a few faint footsteps plodded towards it. A somewhat aged man opened the door, yawning with his hand over his mouth. Police Chief Peter Miggot stood, only half dressed, his shirt and coat discarded on the bed across from the single cell in the station, before Russia. His other hand was scratching the well-toned muscles on his back that had just as well-toned muscles to match on the front. Russia's attention was immediately drawn to a scar that ran from the top left of the man's chest to the middle of his left side, just above his kidney. Before Russia could inquire, Miggot raised his hand up slightly. "Don't ask. If you want to know, we can talk about it later. What's the emergency, to call on me so late at night?" He spoke with a hint of jest in his clear tenor way, smiling slightly.

Russia spoke calmly but quietly, "I was wondering just exactly where we are. And also how we got here, but I am not sure if anyone can help me with that."

Miggot scratched his head, and motioned for Russia to come inside. "Well, you might as well come within doors then. It's cold outside tonight, and the fog's moving in. I can feel the moisture in the air." He stepped out of the way as Russia smiled, puffing out one last foggy breath, and stepped inside the station. The Chief motioned to a chair against the wall, and Russia sat, shivering slightly. Peter walked over to the fireplace beside the iron oven and looked up at Russia, putting a bit of wood on the already dully light fire. "Would you like some tea? I'm going to make some, now that I'm up."

Russia politely shook his head. "Nyet, spaseeba though. I am not a big tea-drinker, da?"

The officer grabbed his rumbled white shirt, and quickly buttoned it on. "Suit yourself. It's very good. Marcus is surprisingly good at things like that, despite his large and insensitive appearance." He sat down on his bed, pushing his coat a bit over towards his pillow. "So, you want to know exactly where you are and how you got here? Well, I can't tell you how you got here, but I can help with the first part."

"Da, that would be appreciated."

"Carlofé Township, Pennsylvania. You'll never find a town quite like it. Most everybody's in bed by eight or nine o'clock. I'm usually up a little later, but tonight I was tired from all the work at the Town Hall. Anyway, what else do you want to know?"

"Why would anyone want to take us here? Or why would we have ended up here?"

"I don't know, but I could make a few guesses."

"Please."

Before the Police Chief could enlighten Russia on any possible reason as to why they had come there, there was another knock at the door. Miggot stood, and began walking over to it. "Excuse me for a moment." He opened it, and on the station doorstep stood a girl with long, platinum-blond hair and a black bow and dress, and a smaller girl, about six years old, with orange eyes and an orange scarf, wearing a coat to match Russia's. At seeing Russia, they both immediately smiled and simultaneously chimed, "Big brother!" Georgia had attached herself to his leg after zipping past Miggot, and Belarus was quickly moving into the station. Miggot stepped backwards and shook his head, scratching it. "Oh, yes, yes, don't stop on my account. I don't live here or anything."

Georgia giggled, and jumped onto Russia's lap, looking up at Miggot. "I'm sorry."

Belarus looked over her shoulder at the man, watching him with large eyes contemplatively for a moment, then turning back around and going to take a seat beside Russia. The chief shut the door again, and walked back to his bed, sitting again. "So what would you two like?"

Georgia cuddled into Russia's lap. "I was just looking for Big Brother. I got a little worried."

Belarus looked at the fire and spoke without addressing Miggot. "I did not want to let her go out alone in the dark."

Miggot looked over at the fire, and saw that it was small enough for tea now. He walked over, and grabbed his kettle, about to grab get some water from a large bucket. He then put the kettle back down and sighed. "It would seem I'm out of water." He looked at little Georgia. "Would you like to get some water?"

Georgia nodded with a giggle, and smiled, jumping off of Russia's lap and extending her hands for the bucket. Miggot put it in her hands, and pointed out the window. "Down the street, just there, there's a well. Just stick the bucket on the end of the rope, and lower it down the well, then pull it back up, easy as cherry pie."

Georgia stuck the bucket on her head and saluted, grinning the whole time, and almost headed for the door. Russia turned to Belarus. "Would you go with her, Natalya?"

"But I want to stay with you, big brother…"

Georgia turned to them. "I can take care of myself! See?" She pulled her iron rod from behind her, seemingly nowhere, and Belarus pointed.

"There is nothing to worry about, big brother."

"But I would still feel better if… nevermind. Go ahead, Tamar."

Georgia giggled and marched out the door, rod in hand, bucket on head. They watched her, and then Miggot crossed his arms, sitting tensely on his bed. "Anyway, like I had been saying before, I can only think of one recent reason why you might be here at all. I highly doubt it has anything to do with the harvest festival, so we can safely rule that out. More likely, it has to do with the… occurrences that went on a couple months ago."

Russia raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Four months ago, a man named Silas Townsend and a woman named Lizavet Davies showed up in town, staying near where you are staying now. They were simple people; Townsend was hard-working, though a city-type. He had a certain air of style and class about him, even though he was very down to earth. Davies worked a night job at the pub, and could sometimes be seen around town running daily errands. Within a week or two, people started turning up missing, and eventually dead. The people were killed in varieties of ways—at first, no one even thought that they were connected. But soon, the evidence all pointed to Townsend and Davies. Although they were never caught, as soon as they were accused, they ran and left town. That was two months ago. No one has seen them since. The town's been heavily monitored by the von Luccio family's watchmen. We would know if they came back."

"Von Luccio?"

"The local baron. A few of the townsmen with keener imaginations have claimed that he's a vampire; took the dead away from Townsend and Davies and feasted on their blood. It's an absurd claim, of course, born out of fear and a lack of knowledge—we found every body, still blood-filled."

"Tell me about Townsend and Davies."

"They were cold-hearted killers. They were able to keep up a simple façade while killing a person almost every night, sometimes entire families."

"That is brutal, da?"

"Yes, it is."

"But what does it have to do with us?"

"If you really have no idea how you got here, whoever does probably had that in mind. Just a theory, of course."

Russia nodded, then looked around the room. "Is it taking Tamar a little long to get the water, or is it just me?"

Belarus looked over at Russia. "She probably just got lost on the way."

"Then somebody needs to go and bring her back."

Miggot nodded. "It's not PARTICULARLY safe out there at night. Let's go check on her."

The three stepped out of the room, Russia and Belarus, then Miggot, who quickly threw on his hat and coat, grabbing his rifle from the wall. When Russia gave him a questioning look, he smiled. "Just in case. Bears tend to over-extend their bounds sometimes."

The officer led them to the well, where they looked around to find the little girl. Russia began to call her name, not too loud to wake the town, but loud enough for her to hear him at a fair distance. Belarus stood beside Russia, silently holding his arm. Miggot walked over to the well, dropped his rifle, and leaned on the stones that made up the walls of the well. He softly called to Russia. "You ought to stop shouting. You'll get no answer."

"Why?"

"Just… come here." He looked away from the well, shaking his head and looking around once more. Russia walked over to the well, and then collapsed to his knees at what he saw. Halfway down the well shaft, the rope had been kept taught by an object, which had originally been presumed a bucket. A look down the shaft proved this wrong, as the only thing anyone who looked down the well could see was a reflection of the moon on blond hair. Miggot began to turn the crank for the well very carefully, and soon the terrible sight was just a few feet before them. The rope was tied as a noose around Georgia's neck, her blond hair scattering all across her head. Her head was off to one side at an unnatural angle, suggesting her neck had been instantly snapped as she had been dropped down the well. Her eyes were half open, glazed over with the paleness of death, and their orange hue had faded and become a morbid yellow. There was a bloody slash across the left side of her chest, over her heart, and she was missing her scarf. Russia, on his knees, put his hands over his face, beginning to sob. Belarus kneeled beside him, much less quickly or urgently. She put a hand on his shoulder. "I… I am sorry, big brother… it was my fault…"

Russia gave no response, just continued crying into his hands. "Tamar… why?"

Miggot walked back over to them, laying something down on the cobblestone paved ground. It was her long orange scarf. It had been cut into with a bloody knife to make words, and occasionally a few splotches of blood would outline a letter. The tears in the scarf read, "_Ashes to ashes, we all fall down. –Townsend"_ Russia read the scarf, and collapsed farther downward, crying harder still. Miggot began walking, rifle in grip, down the street. Russia looked up at him, and spoke between sobs. "Are you not going to try and find out where Townsend is? Look at the murder area?"

"I am. Which is why I am going to get Detective Todd."

* * *

><p>This may seem a little plot-holey and sudden, and if it does, sorry about that. I'm tired. But yeah... poor Georgia D: Most of the characters WILL die, by the way. Just to give you fair warning that this will NOT be remotely happy. So yeah. Please review this depressing and mildly creepy little chapter...<p> 


	3. Episode 2: Todd

Carlofé: Episode 2

In a short time, after Russia had finally stopped sobbing, and just started sniffling, Miggot returned, but not alone. This time, behind him, came a taller man, with a black coat that went down long enough to completely conceal his pants, and his shiny black, now muddy, boots were mostly hidden, with only the ankles and lower visible. The buttons were reversed, so that instead of the buttons being on the right side of the flaps, they were on the left, like a woman's dress shirt instead of a man's overcoat. His coat was collared, and instead of having the top button buttoned, he had the top section unfolded like a pea coat. He had a coachman's top hat. Unlike a cheap, cylindrical top hat, it shrank slightly smaller at the middle and expanded again at the top. What could be seen of his shirt was that it was white and collared, and he wore a jet black tie to go with his theme. He had well-kempt, short black hair, and constantly watching eyes. The eyes were large, but the pupils were small and darting, and seemed to pierce whatever they looked at. His cheekbones were high and feminine, and he walked with a black ivory cane, only for show, as he occasionally lifted it out of the mud and walked a few steps. He looked down at Russia, extending a smooth hand.

"Up, shall we? There are plenty of good places to mourn, but wallowing in the mud is not one of them." Russia looked up with his large violet eyes, and took the much smaller hand of the tall man, who pulled him up. Russia wiped his eyes, and sniffled one last time. The black-dressed man shook his hand, speaking calmly. "Detective Martin Todd. I'm very sorry about your sister." He took off his hat and scratched his head, then put it back on. He patted Russia on the shoulder, then stepped out towards the well, looking down into it with a frown. "What was her name?"

"My s-sister?" Russia sniffled again, rubbing his eye with his scarf.

"Yes, her."

"T-Tamar…"

Detective Todd nodded, and turned to the scarf. He knelt down, and picked the scarf up, sighing, and handed it to the Police Chief. "Take that back to your station… I doubt we'll find anything, but it's worth a go." Miggot nodded and began to carry the folded scarf in one hand, rifle in the other. Meanwhile, Todd poked around in the dark, using his cane to prod at things that were otherwise unidentifiable. Eventually, he got to one knee, and switched the cane to his left hand, reaching down to pick up an object in the mud. Russia walked over to him, and Belarus simply stood dumbfounded where she was. Todd looked up at Russia. "What's your name?"

"Ivan…"

"Well, Ivan, I think we've found ourselves the first hint on our way to catching that scumbag." He stood up, and extended his hand, palm up and open, revealing a tiny glint of metal. "This is the tip of a knife, cleaned on the stone. I can tell by the small marks on the metal." He pointed to the almost invisible scratches on the glinting steel. "I also know that this was involved in this murder, and not by some butcher who felt he needed to clean the tip of his cleaver on the well. Observe the shape on the tip. It has a very tiny snap, suggesting it was used to stab and then slash, not hack or slice like a chef or meat-handler. Also, the lack of rust on the shard demonstrates that the tip was broken off recently—all this water around will set even the best steel blade to brown decay in a day or so." He pocketed the shard, and turned back to the well. "We also ought to get that poor girl out of the well… would you like to be present or not?"

Russia paused, thinking for a moment, and then nodded. "Da… I want to see her taken out."

"Alright. We'll do that first thing in the morning, as soon as Marcus is up. No use waking the town yet. Let's try and keep it quiet for now." He looked at Ivan, and put his hand on his shoulder again, driving his cane slightly into the mud. "You might want to tell your friends about this, though. Just keep it down when the town's up, alright?" Russia nodded silently, and Todd dropped his hand, looking back at the well. "I truly am sorry about your sister. Townsend picks his victims for a purpose—I can only assume he wanted to display the death of innocence… If there's ever anything I can do for you and yours, just let me know. I will be wandering the township at night from now on, and will be with Peter in the day." He smiled comfortingly, and went back to looking around the well.

Russia turned to Belarus. "Will you stay here for a while? I will go wake China, da?" Belarus nodded silently, and crossed her arms, her breath escaping her mouth the same shade as her hair.

* * *

><p>China was rudely awakened by the sound of a thumping fist on his door. He swung his legs off of the bed he was in, and started walking towards the door, grumbling about needing sleep to get up at four in the morning. He opened the door, and there stood Russia, his face devoid of its usual smile. China frowned, annoyed. "What do you want, aru?"<p>

Russia frowned at China disapprovingly. "There is something you need to know, da?"

"I am not in the mood, Ivan, aru…"

"Dammit, Yao, just follow me."

China froze in shock and fear, and followed Russia wordlessly.

* * *

><p>"Oh, aru…" China stood uneasily at the edge of the well, looking down at Russia's little sister, still suspended by the rope. China averted his eyes, and looked over at the darkening horizons, which had already been dark.<p>

Russia stepped up beside him quietly. "I do not quite know what to do, da?"

China frowned. "I have… an idea, aru… Stay here with your other sister, aru."

Russia nodded, and looked over at Belarus, walking over to her. She looked up at him, shivering slightly in the cold. He tried to smile at her, and took off his scarf, wrapping it around her neck. She clung to it tightly, and looked around. Russia sat on the edge of the well. "Should we wake up Katya?"

Belarus shook her head. "She would take it badly…"

"She will take it badly in the morning, too."

"She will be more frightened at night."

"That is true… okay. We will wait here tonight."

Just then, a lantern light projected onto them. Russia turned, but could see nothing behind the bright light. The light was lowered back to its previous position, and it revealed Peter Miggot and Martin Todd, standing in the road. Miggot held the lantern up a little bit again. "Come on, come stay with me for the night. You'll be safe there." Belarus looked up at Russia, who nodded, and followed the two men back to the station, where Miggot barred and locked the door with a latch lock, and laid his rifle down right beside his bed. He had spread out two beddings on the floor, where Russia and Belarus took their leave. Todd had slipped out the door before Miggot had locked it, saying that he had 'business to attend to' in patrolling the town. Russia shut his eyes, covering himself with the bedding.

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><p>And that is episode 2. A nice, short episode to get over the depressing of the last one. Don't worry though, we'll be right back to depressing in episode 3. In the meantime, review, and you will make poor Russia happy.<p> 


	4. Episode 3: Trickery

Carlofé: Episode 3

Silas Townsend rocked back and forth on the children's swing at the top of the hill. It was nothing but a plank and two ropes from a tree branch, but a swing it still was. He looked up at the woman leaning against the tree. "Do you suppose that was too far, Lizavet?"

"Silas, what do I know about too far? If you ask me, you should have killed all three of them."

Silas sighed, and looked down at the little town. "Which is why I didn't ask you." He chuckled, then looked up at the sky. "Maybe I should just turn myself in."

Lizavet laughed an icy, shrill laugh. "Wouldn't that be the day…"

Silas swung a little higher on the swing. "Be the day indeed…"

* * *

><p>The night was growing towards black as China began to wake his family. As soon as they were all around where China could speak to them quietly, China double-checked the door was locked tight. "I have some bad news, aru…" He went through the whole story of the previous events, and when he had concluded, he began his next words of caution. "No one can go outside at night without at least two others, aru. And you have to get my permission, aru. So basically no one can go out at night, aru. Simple enough, aru?"<p>

Mongolia frowned to himself, but nodded with everyone else. He rolled over and stared at the wall for a time, before sitting up, sliding his feet off the edge of his bunk, and dropping to the floor. Before he could land silently, a hand shot out from the bunk below him, grabbing his ankle. He flipped over forward, wrenched his ankle away, and silently rolled across the floor, looking up. Tibet sat poised, watching Mongolia carefully. "Where were you going?"

"Out."

"You can't."

"Nobody can stop me."

Tibet looked around, and silently dove from the bed, rolling over to behind Mongolia, blocking the door. "I certainly can try."

Mongolia examined the monkish man carefully, checking each individual fold of the orange robe. "Why?"

"You cannot go out alone. And you cannot go out with only the two of us." Tibet eyed him closely. "So you cannot go out."

Before Mongolia could speak again, as he silently began to draw his long thin sword, a third voice quietly cut him off. "Sh." Thailand slipped quietly from the shadows in the corner, adjusting his glasses. "Someone will hear your plotting."

Tibet looked up at the wiry man. "What would you suggest?"

Thailand smiled simply, and reached behind him, pulling out a long stick with purple wrap in the middle. "Action, not words."

Mongolia motioned to Thailand. "Surely you can't stop both of us."

Tibet sighed, and crossed his arms. "Then I suppose I am subject to going out."

In a few minutes, the unlikely trio had acquired a lantern, which had been attached to the end of Thailand's stick. They stood outside in the chilly night, with the dull glow of the lantern gleaming on their faces, sending the shadows about like ghosts. Tibet looked between the two men who seemed to know what they were doing. "I can only assume we are looking for exactly what we have been advised to avoid…"

Mongolia looked at Thailand, and they both nodded. "We're going to find Townsend."

Tibet looked back at their little cabin. "And I suppose you cannot be dissuaded by any action or word on my part."

Mongolia and Thailand simultaneously responded, "No."

Tibet nodded, and reached back, extracting something from the farther reaches of his robe. He pulled out two twin hooks, approximately four feet in length each, long and thin, the ends sharp like swords. They looked more like curved swords than hooks at all—they came out straight and thin like swords, then curved into sinister blades, much like swords. Upon receiving surprised looks from Mongolia and Thailand, the bald man shrugged, and looked out at the road. "I am entitled to defend myself from robbers."

Without questioning the implications this would have on his state of pacifism, the other two men set off with Tibet following behind. When they came to the well where Georgia still hung, Tibet averted his eyes, and quietly muttered a prayer. Mongolia frowned, and looked down at the girl, his curved sword now in his hand tightly. Thailand looked at the ground, looking well in danger of losing his dinner. He looked up and around, trying with all his will to avoid looking at the well. He then located a hill, where he thought he saw a shadowy figure step behind the lone tree at the top, but it was a far enough distance away he couldn't be sure. He tapped Mongolia. "Did you see that?"

Mongolia looked over at Thailand. "See what?"

Thailand pointed to the hill. "There's someone up there."

Tibet tightened his grip on his blades. "We had better find out whom."

The three of them made good time crossing the bridge out of the muddy town and onto the grassy hill, and as they came up, they saw an eerily creaking swing, empty, softly moving back and forth. Thailand moved first, with the light, and came up nearly to the swing. He was about to round the tree, when a rustle in the branches startled him. He lifted the lantern. "Who's there?"

Mongolia put a hand on his shoulder. "It was just the wind."

Thailand stared into the tree for a moment, suspiciously. "If you say so… but I swear I saw—" His words were cut off by a knife embedding itself in his shoulder. He cried out and fell over backwards, immediately rolling and coming to his feet. He pulled out the knife, and looked around. He heard a crinkle in the leaves behind him, and swung the lantern-clad stick around, hearing it connect with flesh, and seeing a shadowy figure fall back and dart off. Thailand backed up to Mongolia, blood dripping down his shoulder and side. Tibet stood just within the light of the lantern. He looked hard at where the knife had come from, and pointed with a shout. Before he could say any more, a pair of thick arms shot from the dark behind him, and one covered his mouth, the other holding a knife; and the arms pulled him out of the light. Thailand turned to shed the light as Mongolia ran towards Tibet, but by the time the light and Mongolia met, Tibet had dropped to his knees, a knife lodged in his throat. He coughed blood out, and fell to his hands now. More coughing, and he finally collapsed, but it was evident he had dealt a blow or two to his opponent, as blood dripped from the two hook-swords. An icy, shrill laugh echoed, and another flying knife barely missed Mongolia's head. He wheeled, breathing heavily. A woman stood with perfect balance on the swing. She wore a blood-red corset, black gloves, and black lace boots all the way to her knees, with a black skirt that went just as low. Before she could do anything more towards Mongolia, Thailand swung his lantern again, connecting it with her stomach. She fell back, and was off in the shadows once more. She darted back in, and took Thailand's legs from under him with a sweeping kick, and Thailand rolled and regained his balance. Meanwhile, Mongolia strained his eyes to see the more masculine figure that was just beyond his vision of light. While Thailand desperately fought against the woman who seemed to pull knives from everywhere, the man stepped into Mongolia's vision. He had a long cut along his cheek, and a hatchet in his hand. "Your friend got a good cut in." He motioned to the cut on his cheek, as the light swirled around in a dizzying whirl. Mongolia raised the sword slowly, as anger began to boil, and he swung it with a fury untold. His swing was blocked, and as he went, every single swing ended the same. Suddenly, there was a loud shattering, and the light disappeared as the lantern was smashed. In the shock, a hatchet wedged itself between Mongolia's neck and shoulder. The cry from behind Thailand gave him the final knowledge that there was no winning—his only possibility was escape. He flipped over backwards, dropping his stick and running full tilt down the hill towards the bridge. His toe collided with a root, and he slid down into the mud. He got up quickly, but not quickly enough. The last sound he heard was the whirring of a thin blade through the air, and the last thing he felt was a dull, small pain just below the knob on the back of his skull. He was dead instantly.

* * *

><p>Russia woke in the morning to Miggot shaking him awake. "Ivan! Ivan!"<p>

He sat up groggily. "What…?"

The police chief took his arm. "Come with me. You ought to come see this…"

Where Miggot took him, Todd was standing, fully dressed, at the highest point on a curved stone bridge that spanned the river. He looked down at three men, hanging by their feet, their heads under the water, each dead. After a moment, Russia recognized them as Thailand, Mongolia, and Tibet. Todd was frowning, and Marcus Erikson and Samuel Thames stood watch on either end of the bridge. The detective seemed in thought, but saw Miggot before the chief could announce himself. Without looking up, he addressed them. "Ivan, Peter… I am afraid I cannot make sense of this one… or definite sense at least."

He pointed down with his cane at strips of orange fabric, torn from Tibet's robe, which had been arranged into the words, 'Ashes, ashes, we all catch cold.' Todd tapped the ground with his cane impatiently. Peter looked around. "I don't like it, Martin… right under our noses."

Todd shook his head. "Wrong. They were killed up there." He pointed his cane at the hill. "And dragged down here later. Except for that one." He pointed at Thailand. "He was killed trying to escape, I would assume. In bitter irony, all the wounds were properly closed, and all their clothes pinned up so they wouldn't fall to reveal any unwanted parts of skin." He was now motioning towards all three. "I am afraid, though, that this is more a fault of the killed than the killer. Insomuch as if they had stayed indoors, they would be sleeping happily right now. They were targets of opportunity alone." He looked at Russia. "Ivan… I hate to bring this to you, but if they have families, I would appreciate it if you would bring them here. Or you can tell their names to Miggot and I am sure he will pick them up."

* * *

><p>I wonder... can you figure it out before Todd does? OTL. I am sorry for not updatiiiiiing. It is Christmas season though, so yeah. BUT OTHERWISE SORRY. I will try and get back to it. Next week, same time? Okay. Sounds good.<p> 


	5. Episode 4: Memories in Greyscale

Carlofé: Episode 4

In a short amount of time, the Asians, from North Korea to Vietnam, were standing in the slight, chill wind. Russia wrung his hands, leaning against the back of the bridge, staring at the bleak sky. China had collapsed to his knees, and was sobbing onto the side of the bridge. "I-it is my fault, aru… If I had not said anything about not going out, they would all still be alive, aru… And I was always so mean to Tibet, aru… I… it's my fault, aru…"

Japan put his hand on China's shoulder, his eyes fixated at the river rushing below. "Sensei…"

"No, aru! I do not want to hear it, aru…"

Japan fell silent, blinking at the rushing water, and holding China's shoulder gently. Vietnam silently stared at Thailand, her hair bouncing a bit on her back in the wind. Taiwan was frozen, appearing to be in disbelief. Hong Kong and Macau stared silently, though Hong Kong had less emotion visible. The Koreas stood, any extra fabric flapping slightly in the soft wind. Singapore leaned on the other side of the bridge, avoiding looking at the three men dangling. Russia turned, and walked up towards the hill. Marcus stopped him as he went, a puff of white escaping his lips. "Ivan, I'm sorry. We all are."

Russia looked over at the large, gruff-looking man. "Spaseeba, Marcus…"

"I can walk with you if you want some company."

"Spaseeba again, Marcus… company would be nice."

The two of them walked up the hill in mostly silence, both with their hands in the pockets of their long coats. At the top, Russia sat on the swing, and Marcus leaned against the tree. Remaining in silence, except for the stretching of the rope, Marcus pulled out a small locket, and opened it, looking at a faded greyscale picture inside. Russia looked at the square, silver locket for a while, and when Marcus noticed him, he shut it, and quietly began, with a hint of sorrow. "Her name was Lydia. We were married for twelve years. I met her in the bakery, actually. I was picking up the 13 small loaves of bread for the others back at the station, and as I was coming out, she walked right into me. She had nose buried in a book, of course. Always reading. Miggot jokingly told me that meant she would be a terrible wife. But anyway, she helped me pick up the bread, and carry it back to the station. I guess… I guess we just steadily fell for each other. It was because of her I learned how to make tea, and clean houses, and cook. She was beautiful…"

He handed the locket to Russia, who opened it. "Wow… da, she was…"

"You should have seen her in color."

He looked up at Marcus. "What happened?"

Marcus was silent for a while, simply watching the breath come out of his mouth in grey mists for a while. "She was stabbed in the chest sixty six times by Lizavet Davies. Then her face was torched, same person. That woman is a psychopath. If you ask me, Townsend isn't the scariest part of the string, it's Davies. You can tell who killed which people." He pointed down at the bridge. "Two by Townsend. The one who tried to run was Davies. Townsend's cuts are all so… systematic. Like he's using the weapon as a writing object, and making the victim's his pages. He has more… almost respect for his victims. Davies… she hacks and slashes and guts. The more blood, the better. I would feel much better knowing that Townsend killed Lydia… but it isn't true."

Russia stared at the ground now, closing the locket and holding it loosely. "We will catch her, Marcus. I know we will, da?"

Marcus looked up at Russia, and although tears were forming in his eyes, he managed a tiny smile. "Ivan… you don't have to tell me twice."

Todd paced along the bridge, looking back at Miggot. "Where is he?"

Miggot shrugged. "I wish I knew, Martin."

Todd tapped his cane a few times. "I wish Charles moved faster, Peter. I really do. He does realize that the worst killers the state of Pennsylvania, the East Coast, and possibly the entire country has ever seen are right back on our doorstep, yes?"

Miggot sighed, reaching into his coat for his pipe. "Yes, Martin, I'm sure he does."

In a few moments, the clack of solid white boots on pavement could be heard. Todd turned, brandishing his cane. "Finally."

A man with greying, though still reasonably blonde, wiry hair, greyish-blue eyes, a gently-curved nose, pristine lips, and kindly rounded facial features was approaching. He had a white overcoat that drooped to about his knees, and seemed to make no ripple although the wind blew against it. It had a collar that jutted upward, much like one sees pictures of Dracula with, only whiter and much more rounded. He had white gloves with black lines on each knuckle, and the coat, which hung open and unbuttoned, revealed his tan, homespun shirt and light pants, and his white, obviously imported, boots. His collage of things from varying levels of society was almost off-putting, but it seemed natural on the thin, official-looking man. Todd looked at him disapprovingly, straightening his ankle-length black coat with one hand. "About time you arrived, Torten."

The newly arrived man shrugged. "Medicine cannot be hurried, my dear Martin."

Todd rolled his eyes. "You don't use medicine on the deceased, Charles. I would appreciate it if you could examine them properly."

Charles nodded, and walked over to the bodies, which had been moved to the middle of the bridge. He knelt down, and began his examination. Todd shook his head and looked at Miggot, speaking quietly. "Send them to Harvard and they come back assholes."

Miggot chuckled, and turned to Samuel Thames, explaining the new rounds they'd be making at night, and during the day.

Todd leaned against the side of the bridge, thinking about the strange message in the fabrics. "Ashes, ashes, we all catch cold…" He scratched his chin. "Hmmm…" He tapped the ground with his cane. "Ashes TO ashes for Tamar… that's wrong. Townsend knows it, if he wrote it correctly this time. But the 'we all fall down'… he dropped her down a well. She fell. That could make sense. But… what would the catching cold be?" He tapped the bridge again for a moment, then pulled a whiskey canteen out of his pocket, though it was really filled with water. He drank, then stopped, looking down at the canteen. "That's it!" He turned, and went down to the river shore, dipping his hand in the water. Icy cold. He smiled slightly. "We all catch cold. But why?" His smile turned into a frown. He looked up and down the shore, then noticed a small piece of fabric in the mud under the bridge. He walked over, and lifted it with his cane. "Who's not cleaning up after themselves, I wonder…"

He pocketed the fabric, then went back up to the bridge, where Charles Torten was waiting, having finished his analysis. Todd eyed him oddly. "Anything interesting?"

Torten shrugged. "Aside from the fact that there was rust on the hatchet used to kill that one," he pointed to Mongolia, "Nothing more than what Miggot told me you found yourself. I'll do an autopsy, but I can't promise anything special."

Todd put a hand on his shoulder. "Do your best, Doctor. That's all I'm asking."

"I will, Martin… I will."

* * *

><p>Doctor Charles Torten. What's your opinion? And I want to know your theories, guys. I really do. And how do you like Todd so far? And isn't it sad about Marcus? Poor guy. And aren't I asking a lot of questions? Anyway, expect Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg to show up next episode. And probably America, finally. So have a nice week while you wait~. No death for a little while, I promise. I'll let you all recover.<p> 


	6. Episode 5: The Grey of the Smoke

Carlofé: Episode 5

Belgium looked at her two brothers, one silent, one sniffling. The taller, gruffer, angrier looking one sitting to her left, Holland, was the silent one. He seemed to stare over the houses of the township, avoiding looking at anything but the mist in the air. Luxembourg, on her right, adjusted his overly large, brown vest, and looked up at her with another sniffle. His young eyes were wet and glittery, and every blink brought a bit of water onto his eyelids. "Why do people kill people?"

Belgium looked down at him, her face straighter than usual. "I don't know. But they do. And so we're going to eventually stop them. Okay?"

Luxembourg nodded, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He sat down on the front step of the town hall, and watched Russia go by, and sometimes others, and sometimes people he didn't recognize. He leaned into Belgium, arms crossed. After a few minutes, the door behind them opened, and Spain stepped out, Mexico in tow, and tapped Belgium on the head. "I am done in there now. We can go now."

Belgium looked up at him smiling down at her. "Antonio… where are we going now?"

Spain rubbed his head. "To the bakery. I'm hungry. Then we're going to the jailhouse. The warden is concerned there's someone hiding in his cellar or something."

Belgium blinked. "And he wants… us to help?"

Spain shook his head. "America volunteered. And so I did too. Not a bad idea, si?"

Belgium rubbed her temples. "Yes a bad idea. What if it's Townsend?"

Spain thought for a moment. "We kill him."

Belgium rolled her eyes, but agreed to go to the bakery.

Luxembourg, as they left the bakery, looked up at Spain. "Are you strong enough to kill Townsend?"

Spain smiled and ruffled his hair, taking a bite from a piece of bread. "Me and America together are, si."

They walked up to a brick building with iron-barred windows, the door being double-reinforced, and a coated guard standing on either side of the door. America stood tapping his foot in the mud and waiting for Spain, a blunderbuss in his hand. When he saw Spain, he grinned. "THERE you are. C'mon over here! What're they for?" He motioned to Belgium, Mexico, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands.

Spain smiled. "They're my company until I got here. Now where's the warden?"

The door opened at that moment, revealing a huge man, resembling Martin Todd almost identically, except that his features were wider, and he was probably half a head taller. He wore a long brown coat, all the way down to his shins, buttoned reversely in the same way as his Martin's. He had yellow epaulettes, obviously of some standing in the town. The expression on his face seemed rather calm and docile, though the massive double-barreled shotgun in his hand looked a bit less so. He smiled simply to Spain. "I am Warden Todd. Before you ask, yes, like Detective Todd. He's my younger brother." He extended his hand and roughly shook Spain's, in a way that jostled him a little bit. Spain, when the man wasn't looking, shook his hand out to get rid of the cramps. "If you'll be so kind, follow me, please. I'll direct you to the cellar."

Belgium watched as Spain and America went into the building, sitting on a barrel nearby, and looking over at Mexico. "Don't you worry about him sometimes?"

The black-haired girl looked up at Belgium. "Hm? Oh, no, not really. Papa can take care of himself."

Belgium bit her lip, then sighed and took a bite from her bread. "He's just so… reckless."

"Si, but if nobody were a little reckless, nobody would get anything done."

"That's true… but suppose it is Townsend down there?"

"Worst comes to worst, he slaughters Alfred and Papa and escapes. More likely, he'd either vanish or get killed by those two. I'm not that worried."

"I don't like the first option…"

"It's probably not even Townsend down there. Papa'll be fine. I'm sure of it."

"I'm not so sure…"

"Don't be such a pessimist. His axe is bigger than most people's bodies."

"I suppose that's a good point…"

"Si. It is. So stop worrying about him. I remember being on the island. It was just him and that enigmatic doctor… and they saved me. So I'm not so worried."

"Mm…"

Mexico put her hand on Belgium's shoulder. "He'll be okay. Si?"

"If you say so…"

Meanwhile, a couple barrels over, Luxembourg looked up at the Netherlands. "Dirk… I'm scared."

Diederick looked at him for a moment, then smiled a tiny smile. "It'll be okay, Michael. We'll all be fine."

"How do you know?"

The older brother caught a bug in his hand. "The bug told me." He showed the younger the bug in confirmation, and then let it go. "It is a very honest bug."

Luxembourg frowned. "I'm older than that, Dirk."

The Netherlands chuckled, and thought for a moment. "We'll just have to trust we'll be okay."

Luxembourg stared at the ground. "I don't wanna trust a bug…"

Holland chuckled a bit louder. "Then trust me. I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

Luxembourg pursed his lips to the side for a bit. "How can you stop anything from happening?"

Again, Holland thought. "I can just smack 'em in the face." He began to draw his sword slightly, then dropped it back in, watching the younger boy still stare at the ground. He took his brother's chin, and tilted it up. "Hey. We're going to be fine."

Luxembourg looked away. "Do you promise?"

"Ja. I promise."

At this same time, the warden had opened a second door through the prison, and the two following him passed mostly empty cells, occasionally observing a prisoner, and America would always bluntly ask why they were imprisoned. Spain would drag him onward, and they eventually came to a horizontal door, raised up from the ground slightly by wooden sides, the top of which went to about Spain's waist. The warden reached and opened the doors, sending dust everywhere. They all peered down into the shaft it went to, with only a ladder to guide a person down. Warden Todd looked up at them. "I heard talking down there this morning. Two voices. One male, one female. I was concerned, which is why I went to Miggot… well, was going to go to Miggot. Anyway, if you would be so kind as to check it, that would be appreciated. I'll leave the doors open so that you can see down there… it's dark."

Spain and America slowly went down the ladder, using the light from the prison to guide their steps. At the bottom, Spain waited as America finished the last few rungs. Spain was about to speak, when they were both startled by the sound of feet. They wheeled, Spain instantly gripping his battle axe, and America holding the blunderbuss up in aimed position. They silently looked at each other, nodded, and proceeded on opposite sides of the passage, moving forward down the cobwebbed hall, occasionally stepping in puddles. Before them the sound of feet continued. Suddenly, it stopped. They both froze, waiting for someone to come leaping out. Suddenly, a drip behind them. They almost turned, then disregarded it. But suddenly, the sound of running feet occurred behind them, running back towards the prison. They gave chase, but heard a slam of doors, and were suddenly in complete darkness. They froze, hearing now two steps of footsteps, one behind, one in front, both creeping forward. Clack, clack, clack. Heeled boots. Clomp, clomp, clomp. Larger, male boots. Clack, clomp, clack, clomp. Clack clack clack. Clomp. Step by step, the two men became more and more nervous. America, in a small fit, fired off a shot. The explosion it made revealed some of the passageway. A tall, sophisticated looking man in a suit appeared then disappeared, and the footsteps got faster. Spain grabbed America's arm and bolted for the door to the cellar. A pistol resounded, and smoke went by their heads, preceded by a lead ball tinking off of the brick wall in front of them. Spain clambered up the ladder first, while America turned and fired off a second shot, feeling a knife slide by his head. He quickly leapt onto the ladder after Spain, while the doors opened, and the warden pulled them both out, grabbed his shotgun, and pointed it straight down the shaft, blasting a deafening shot and filling the room with smoke. No movement seemed to come from the cellar below.

The warden threw the doors shut, and tied them with chain. He turned to America and Spain, shaking his head. "Are you two alright?"

They both nodded, and America added, "Where'd you get that shotgun? Aren't you not supposed to be able to fire a muzzle-loader straight down?"

The warden looked down at his gun. "Oh… well, it's specially made." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now it's time for you to go out to the others. They're probably worried about you. Gunshots aren't exactly quiet." Spain nodded, and dragged America back outside, while the dragged man stared at the shotgun in awe.

Once outside, Belgium tackled Spain over. "God, I was so worried! I thought you were dead for sure!"

Spain chuckled. "Have a little faith in me…"

America laughed, and poked Spain with his foot. "Dude… you got a girl on top of you." He thought for a moment, then looked up at the sky. "Why doesn't a girl ever get on top of ME? I covered your ass when you were climbing the ladder and shot at the bad guy with a blunderbuss…"

Mexico snuck up behind America, and slid her arms around his chest, putting her face beside his. "Would you LIKE a girl on top of you?"

America felt her hands feeling down towards less appropriate places, and he caught them. "Hell yes. Just inside, preferably on a bed."

Mexico winked. "I can accommodate."

America kissed her hand with a smile. "Then take me there."

Luxembourg stared at them curiously, looking up at the Netherlands. "Can I get a girl on top of me? I want kisses too… and I also would be okay with—"

"No."

* * *

><p>For clarification, this is SpainxBelgium and AmericaxMexico... or BelgiumxSpain and MexicoxAmerica. Whichever you prefer. And Luxembourg wants a girlfriend. Another clarification, this is the same... universe? I don't know what to call it. But it's the same set of parameters as Kissed by a Rose and Figure in the Mist. Reading those... not required, but definitely helpful. Anyway, please review~~~. Please. Oh, and I'm going to be updating on friday nights now. Thanks for understanding. Have a good daynight~.


	7. Episode 6: The Things in Grey Mists

Carlofé: Episode 6

As Russia walked, the mist grew a bit thicker, and the sky was invisible through the screen of fog. The town itself was still mostly visible, and he trudged through its muddy streets. When he reached his cabin, he opened the door to find only Armenia sitting on his bed, reading his leather-bound Bible. "Matthew? Why are you not outside with the others?"

Armenia hardly looked up before going back to reading. "The same reason you are trying to escape them."

Russia became a bit defensive, stammering slightly, "I am not trying to escape."

"Don't lie to yourself, Ivan." The eight year old looked up at Russia, and from under his white hood, Russia could feel his eyes on him. He straightened out his white cloak, and slid his long hair back into the hood. "In the end, either you convince yourself of a lie and put everyone around you in dire peril, or you fail to convince yourself and boil anger. Just stop while you have the chance." The boy stood, his sandals clapping the floor as he passed Russia through the doorway. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am off to pay my respect to the dead."

Once the boy was gone towards where Georgia's body had been moved to, a voice that Russia had not realized was there spoke softly, accompanied with a sniffle or two, "He misses her, Vanya…"

He looked up and saw Ukraine standing, wringing her hands in the corner of the room. "We all do, Katya…" He sat on his bunk, and sighed, tipping himself over backwards, and sniffling out some of his problems.

Belarus hurriedly and silently walked towards the bridge, intending to do some research of her own, regardless of the fact that the mist was completely covering the bridge and the hill. When she reached the bridge, she paused for but a moment, then checked the area to make sure no one was following her, and she began to dart across the bridge. Suddenly, she was grabbed around her midriff from behind by a heavy-coated man. "Where do you think you're going?"

She reached for a knife, but her hand was caught, the other arm trapped by the arm around her. She struggled, and refused to answer, until she was spun and pressed lightly against the wall of the bridge, a black cane at her throat. Detective Todd watched her carefully. "Hm? Where?"

She looked at the tall man with unblinking, unanswering, unemotional eyes. He leaned a bit closer. "You were going to try and find Townsend out in the mist, weren't you?" Silence. "Try and kill him, because it would make your brother feel better." She wavered a bit, and her eyes darted away for a moment. He shook his head. "You may not go out into that fog. I have no doubt in your ability to defend yourself, but I cannot trust anyone to go out there."

He turned her head a bit with the cane, and she stared at the floor of the bridge. He lowered the cane and spoke more softly. "Besides, you've seen what Davies does to people. It'd be a shame to waste a face like yours." He put the cane on her elbow and pushed her towards the town again. "Now let's take you back."

She went grudgingly, and muttered. "I cannot go back to the cabin."

Todd continued pushing her forward gently. "Why not?"

"I do not want to tell them where I have been."

"You could always go to the station. And then go to the cabin."

Belarus seemed to consider this for a while, then looked up at him. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He looked on forward, and nudged her towards the station. "Because these are times that try the make of men. And thus men try their making."

Belarus looked confused, but didn't say anything more on it.

Back at the station, Todd hung his coat on the rack, revealing his white shirt and black tie, and his black pants and black shoes. He closed the door quietly after Belarus entered, and pulled her up a seat near the fire, which he tended for a bit, before sitting down beside her. She stared at the fire, completely ignoring him, as he leaned back and put his shoes on the fireplace, and crossing his arms.

"I know how you feel."

Belarus looked up at him, then narrowed her eyes slightly, looking back at the fire. "How could you?"

"I had a little sister too. Her name was Janice. She was killed when we were teenagers. Shot in the chest. Never found out who did it."

The platinum-blond girl looked over at him. "I… I am sorry. I did not—"

"It's fine. You couldn't have known. Would you like some tea?" He stood up. "I've been having Marcus show me how, and I'm very curious to see if I truly can manage it."

Belarus shrugged, and Todd watched her for a moment, as if waiting for her to respond, then put a water kettle over the fire. He then turned back to her, and spoke in a kind voice, his face being graced very slightly by a tiny smile. "Anything else you would like? A blanket, perhaps?"

She blushed the slightest amount at being shown this kindness from a near stranger, and nodded a tiny bit. He turned, and walked towards the closet, opened the old door, and reached to a top shelf, pulling out a blanket, shutting the door, and unfolding it, carefully laying it across her, so her arms came out so she could hold things. He sat down, and waited for the water to be ready.

"Detective Todd…?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you think that Townsend and Davies are doing this?"

Both of them stared at the fire for a while, before Martin spoke up. "I think that Davies is a psychotic maniac."

Belarus snorted. "I could not have figured that one out on my own…" She looked over at the lone cell sullenly.

"But I also think Townsend has something to prove. I think he wants to 'teach us a lesson', and then, as far as I can understand him, he will turn himself in."

She swiveled her head, wondering if he was really all that good of a detective. "What?"

He met her eyes. "Every murder he's committed seems to have had a purpose, or a drive behind it. None of them seem to be driven out of insanity. I would hesitate to classify him as anything… but if I had to, I would say he's misanthropic."

Belarus readjusted herself under the blanket. "I do not see how that excuses anything he has done…"

Todd stood, and put a hand on the arm of her chair. "It doesn't. Which is why we are going to catch him, and, more likely than not, be forced to kill him."

Belarus glowered a bit more at the fire. "I would love to do that…"

Todd gently took her hand for a moment, which caused her to jet her eyes up at him, blush slightly, and look away again. He then dropped it back to where it had been, and poured two cups of hot water, having ground a few leaves and herbs into the cups beforehand, and handed one to her. She took a sip, and looked down. "What is in this?"

"Mostly pine and eastern hemlock… why?"

"It tastes very good…"

Todd smiled a bit. "I'm glad you think so."

* * *

><p>Sorry for updating a day late. I was pulling an all nighter with some awesome people. Never go bouldering for extended periods without gloves or chalkpowder. That's all I have to say. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter~. Things will pick up again shortly, so I hope you enjoy. PLEASE REVIEW~~~. G'night.


	8. Episode 7:  Doctor, Doctor

Carlofé; Episode 7

Holland and Luxembourg walked slowly down the muddy pathway in the chill evening, letting the mist swirl around their ankles.

"Dirk… this is creepy…"

"Shh. We'll be home in just a couple of moments."

"Yeah… you're ri—"

As the sentence attempted to finish, Luxembourg tripped over a wooden shard of a barrel, and crashed down to the ground, colliding painfully with the corner of a brick building. Holland was immediately helping him up. "Michael, you alright?"

Luxembourg shivered, and cringed, standing back up to his full height, and displaying his left arm. A long, jagged, and deep-looking cut wound from below his wrist to near his elbow. "O-ow…"

The Netherlands frowned deeply, muttering, "That might need stitches… I don't suppose they have stitches now, do they?"

Luxembourg shrugged. "You never know," He smiled slightly, "This IS America."

Holland chuckled. "A fair point. They had sewing needles, I'm sure."

"Mhmm…"

"Don't worry. They had anesthetics too."

"No they didn't. Don't lie."

"Fine, fine. But maybe they do here."

"Dirk… I'm not a little kid anymore. I know they don't. Just knock me out with a rock or something."

Holland blinked at him for a moment, never thinking he'd hear those words out of Luxembourg's mouth. "Al…right."

Luxembourg smiled, "Now let's find a doctor or something. Ow…"

Holland frowned, taking his brother's hand. "Come on. Let's get looking for that doctor. We can always drop by the station and ask, right?"

"Yeah… I guess so."

The knock on the door caused Natalya to look up from her tea. She turned her focus towards Todd, who waved his hand at her. "I'll get it."

He walked over and opened the door, revealing a tall silhouette of a man, which made Natalya immediately put her tea on the table beside her and reach for the nearest knife in her dress. The figure stepped in and put his hands up. "Jeez, Natalya, I'm not the bad guy." She frowned, sliding her knife back into the dress, and picking up her tea again.

Holland turned to Todd. "Detective Todd, right?"

Todd nodded. "That would be me."

Dirk pulled his little brother into the room. "You see… Michael got a pretty bad cut," He displayed the gash alone the smaller boy's arm. "And we probably ought to bring him to the doctor."

Todd stroked his chin. "Torten? Why come here, then?"

"I have no idea where he is."

"Ah, yes. Fair point. Would you like me to show you?"

"You look busy. I can find it if you tell me where it is."

Todd looked back at Natalya. She made a face, suggesting that she didn't want him to leave. He looked back at the Netherlands. "At the end of this road, there's a little building all covered in white. That's where Torten lives."

"Thanks."

When Holland and Luxembourg had left, Todd shut the door behind them, turning back to Natalya, and sitting in the chair across from her. "That looked like a pretty bad cut."

Natalya nodded, not sure how to respond.

Todd leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "You will have to go back to your cabin at some point. You understand that, right?"

Natalya looked at the floor silently.

"Right?"

"Da… I suppose." She looked up at him, frowning. "But… why are you pressing about it so much?"

"Hm?" Todd seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. "Oh. Well, with such dangerous people about, you ought to be home fairly early. Don't you think?"

Natalya watched him carefully. "Da… I suppose."

He chuckled slightly, crossing his arms. "Is that all you can say?"

"What? Nyet, of course not!"

His shoulders bounced lightly as he laughed, leaning into the back of the chair.

* * *

><p>America sat up on his bed, standing and stretching. He almost stepped forward to head out the door, when he heard the bed creak. He turned at the noise with a frown.<p>

"Alfred… if you go outside, especially without any clothes on, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you."

He smiled at the black-haired woman lying in his bed. "Sorry, Isabel."

Mexico made a face. "You'd better be sorry. I'll put my boot so far up your ass you'll be spitting up laces."

He sat down beside her. "Yeah, yeah. And anyways, making jokes about killing isn't very funny under the circumstances, is it?"

She sat up with a yawn, the bed sheet falling to her waist and leaving her top half exposed. "Since when have you been able to read the mood?"

He put his hands on his hips. "Nobody's given me the book yet!"

Mexico collapsed backwards. "Dios mia…"

America crawled back towards her. "Whaaat? I can't read it if I don't have it!"

She pounded her head into the pillow. "Why," unintelligible murmuring into the pillow, "with a stupid," likewise, "the mood?"

America thought for a bit, trying to translate the pillow-murmur. "Because you like me?"

Isabel's head turned towards him. "Did you… understand me?"

"Nope! I just guessed! I'm a good guesser. That's why I win at Battleship."

"You win at Battleship because you cheat."

"Do not!"

"Then why do I have to sit in front of a mirror?"

"So… I can see your pretty hair."

"Liar liar."

"I am not a liar!"

"Shut up and kiss me."

America happily obliged her request, then looked down at her, a hand on the pillow on either side of her head, and his left elbow on the bed beside her chest. His eyes wandered downward, lingered at her exposed chest for a while, then down to where the blanket stopped just above her waist. He looked at her top half for a while, almost seeming to forget she was there. She rolled her eyes, and grabbed the back of his head, shoving his face between her breasts. "If you like them so much, stop staring, stupid."

He mumbled onto her skin, and she released him momentarily. "But I like staring."

She sighed quietly, patting his head. "I know. But hey, what if I die out there? You'll regret just staring all night long."

He immediately covered her mouth with his finger. "Don't talk like that. You won't die out there. I won't let you."

She smiled, and moved his hand, kissing him. "Good. Because if you did, my brothers would kill you."

America frowned. "Honduras might. Panama can't aim straight down his rifle."

Mexico hugged him to her. "Well it doesn't matter, because I'm not going to die, right?"

"Of course!"

"So it doesn't matter in the least."

America smiled and kissed her neck. She smirked, running a hand down his side. "Now… about that 'all night'…"

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Dirk led Michael by the hand down the misty path, as the dark got darker and the thick got thicker. He saw an oil lamp for a house, and sighed in relief. As he walked, his boots, instead of slapping in mud, began to click on cobblestone. He looked down, and to his sides, and found that he was on a bridge. Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped, and the lantern fell from its post, shattering on the ground. He could see neither end of the bridge, and only the sides, not the river below. He swallowed. Luxembourg pulled himself closer to his older brother. "Dirk… I'm scared…"<p>

Holland breathed deeply, trying to appear strong for his little brother. "Shh. We're fine. Perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about. We're almost there."

The words were just as much to himself as to the other, as he stepped slowly across the bridge. When he drew to the end of the bridge, he heard a _thunk_, turned as he felt Luxembourg drop, and felt a cobblestone block crash into his forehead. The world went black, and his mind went white.

* * *

><p>O.O I'm back... after being gone... I'll try to spam the update button this week. Okay? But we'll see. Carlofe was almost a lost cause. But I found it again and was like, 'hmmm... more death and destruction sounds good. Okay.' So please review. Carlofe needs reviews! Or it might die! (T_T)<p> 


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